


your lighthouse (follow me)

by annubkb



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bollywood, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jab We Met AU, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Suicide Attempt, but like... very non-graphic, oh boy here we go - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-01 10:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15141422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annubkb/pseuds/annubkb
Summary: Keith is a rich and not-so-successful businessman whose family drama is sending his company under. Lance just got his doctorate and wants to reach for the stars, literally and figuratively. Keith hates life. Lance loves it. After they meet on a train (then proceed to miss that train) Keith and Lance end up on a trip together, and Keith finds himself the happiest he's been in a long time.There's just one catch. Lance is sort of engaged and unquestionably in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith wants to give up on his life while Lance is heading for a new one. Coincidentally, they meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, so I started this fic over a year ago, but I haven't really worked on it much since December because of like Real Life and stuff. I got kind of sick of it sitting around unfinished so I'm using Lance's birthday as an excuse to finish it off. I'm gonna be posting one chapter a day, hopefully, until the 28th, when I'll finish off the rest. At least that's the plan. There are 13 chapters so... idk for sure how to do this best. But that's the plan right now. I hope people like this fic, it's based on a Bollywood movie called Jab We Met, one of my favorite movies.

 

_GOT MY HEART SET ON ANYWHERE BUT HERE_

 

Everything sounded muffled, like he was hearing it from underwater. Keith stared across the table at his half-brother, wondering when it had all come to this. Most of the others at the table were standing, arguing.

“Although they think going to court will be beneficial to them, after the hearings everything will be clear. And then they will know what they genuinely deserve and what they can expect from this company in the future,” Keith’s lawyer said, slapping a hand to the table dramatically.

“Look, I don’t think we should come to any conclusions now,” the Shirogane lawyer responded calmly.

“We are meeting today because we are considering Mr. Shirogane’s demands,” the company’s lawyer chimed in.

“Who gave _you_ the authority to consider any demands?” Shiro’s lawyer snapped.

That brought forth a whole new set of arguments. Keith desperately needed to be anywhere but here. He slowly stood, pointedly refusing to look at Shiro, and escaped to the nearest bathroom. He examined his reflection and it felt like he was looking through a window, at a stranger who just happened to wear his face and match his movements. The man in the mirror – pale skin, shaggy hair, dark circles under his eyes – looked so goddamn fake in the fancy suit and silk tie.

After a moment more of staring at himself, Keith left the bathroom. But when he reached the conference room, he saw through the windows that the lawyers were still pacing around and arguing loudly, audible even through the layer of glass, while Shiro sat calmly in his seat. Certain of his stance and his claims to the company.

He couldn’t go back in to face that. He didn’t want to be in the building, much less that meeting. He knew that his dad wouldn’t have wanted Shiro and their mom getting anything, not since the divorce. Keith’s dad had felt particularly possessive of the company after the split, and since Shiro wasn’t actually his son, he’d left him out of the will. Keith had an obligation to honor his father’s last wishes, as petty as they might be. But he also knew that Shiro deserved his share of the company, and so did their mom. They’d both worked hard to make the company successful, for far longer than Keith had.

So what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just give up the company to the board of directors. It was his parents’ life work. And they _had_ loved him – both of them – despite it all.

God, this was just too much. Keith couldn’t do this – couldn’t make these decisions like he actually knew what the right thing was. He longed to be somewhere – anywhere – else.

He left.

“Good afternoon, sir,” their receptionist said, as he walked out the front doors of the building. One of the company’s drivers brought the car around, but instead of getting in the back, Keith got in the driver’s seat, unwilling to take anyone else where he was about to go.

An invitation was burning a hole in his jacket’s pocket, and he took it out once to check the address, ignoring the waves of nausea in his stomach. He arrived at the small, picturesque garden and felt like vomiting. It was a beautiful day. The perfect day for a wedding.

The marriage itself was over, and people were already getting dinner. The happy couple stood at the front of the room, greeting the friends and family who’d come. Keith’s tie started to feel more and more like a hangman’s noose the closer he got. When he reached them, he couldn’t help but stare at the groom.

Lotor looked good in his suit, a happy smile on his face that slid off when he met Keith’s gaze. Keith’s heart clenched. He could remember the feel of Lotor’s heartbeat under his fingertips, and his voice echoed in Keith’s ears.

“Mr. Kogane, it’s lovely to meet you,” the bride said, offering out her hand. Keith shook it numbly. In that second, he couldn’t even remember her name. Lotor had definitely told him what it was, though, when he’d told Keith one night out of the blue that he was getting married.

“Look over here! Sir, look here and smile! Sir!” the wedding photographer insisted. Keith managed to look into the camera, but smiling was impossible. He wondered if Lotor would keep the photo, or have the photographer delete it. Keith probably looked miserable, which didn’t make for a very charming wedding memory.

With one last glance at Lotor, Keith left the reception. He opened the car door, about to get in, when he realized he had nowhere to go. He shut the door again. Then he took out his phone and left it on top of the car, along with the keys. Someone else could have his things.

Hell, someone else could have his life, for all he cared.

As he walked down the sidewalk, he loosened his tie until he could breathe a little easier. Not a second later, he pulled it off completely, letting it fall to the ground. Next to go were his cufflinks, which he put into a cup in front of a homeless man.

A bus pulled up next to him, and on a whim, Keith boarded it. It took him to the train station, where he sat on a bench, watching people pass him by as trains pulled up to the platforms. He felt as though they were separated from him by a thin pane of glass, putting them and the rest of the world just out of his reach. Keith was alone with his misery.

“Attention passengers,” began an announcement, “please remember to keep your items secured in the overhead compartments or at your feet. Do not open the train doors while the train is moving.”

Keith had an idea. It wasn’t like anyone would miss him. Lotor had his new wife, and the only family he had left was suing him over a company he didn’t even want to run. Everyone he loved was gone, one way or another. He got on the train, without checking the destination or buying a ticket. He’d be gone before either of those things mattered.

 

* * *

 

_HEADED FOR THE OPEN DOOR_

 

“Hey, grab this for a second!” Lance called, passing a bag to the conductor who was standing in the doorway of the moving train. He, in turn, passed it to someone behind him.

“Get in, sir!” the conductor said.

“Yeah, hang on!” Lance said. “This next!” Lance was running alongside the train, followed by a young boy who was carrying some of his things because Lance had given him ten dollars.

“Sir!” the conductor protested, but then he did take the next bag.

“Don’t worry about me, just load the luggage,” Lance insisted.

“You have enough stuff for five people,” said the boy, practically tossing a statue of the crucifixion to the conductor.

“Hey, be careful with that, show Jesus some respect,” Lance said.

“Is there more?” the conductor asked wearily as he took a potted plant.

Lance just laughed. “Don’t worry about how much there is, we’re good!”

“Dude, the train is leaving,” the kid said. Lance took his stuffed shark from the kid’s arms.

“Then you’d better load it up faster,” Lance replied, grinning. The kid hoisted the last bag up and passed it off to the conductor. When it was safely in the conductor’s hands, Lance grabbed onto the railing, preparing to hoist himself onto the train.

“Come on, I have to close the doors,” the conductor called.

“Then help me!” Lance said. The conductor grabbed his hand and yanked. Lance all but leapt onto the train, tumbling into the compartment with a burst of breathless laughter. Everyone in the compartment turned to look at him. He took a few deep breaths.

“Shit, that was too close. I cut it too close today,” he panted. “You know, I have never in my life missed a train?” Lance looked up, at the figurative heavens. “Thank you, God. You saved me from breaking my record.” His chest still heaving, he grinned at the conductor. “I’m in the train now, right?”

“Yeah...” the conductor said.

“So you can let go of my hand,” Lance teased, flashing a grin. The conductor released his hand and jerked back. Lance grinned, making eye contact with the closest passenger. “I’m not _that_ attractive,” he joked.

The conductor, grumbling and flushed, picked up some of his bags and followed him down the train as he hunted for his seat.

“I prefer traveling in the regular seats, but my family is always like ‘oh, but you’re a student, Lance’ as if I don’t know that?” He stopped a random guy who was walking past them. “Hey, is this compartment seven?”

“Yeah?” the guy said, looking confused.

“Great, thanks,” Lance said. The conductor began stowing Lance’s luggage in the shelves. “And anyway, what does being a student have to do with getting the bed seats? I mean, sure I could sleep a little more, but it’s still light out and it’s not like this is my first time traveling alone overnight, it’s not even my first time in _this train_. This train is like my second home.”

“I hope you have a good journey,” the conductor said, in that polite tone people use when they don’t mean what they’re saying at all.

“Thanks,” Lance said with a grin. “And thanks for all your help.”

The conductor gave him a nod before leaving.

“Okay, now where’s my seat?” Lance muttered to himself. “Seventeen, nineteen, twenty-one…”

...There was someone in his seat. A guy, probably mid- or late-twenties, looking somewhat disheveled, but wearing a pretty high quality suit.

“Hi, excuse me, um, is this your seat?” Lance asked. The guy didn’t even glance at him. “Hello, I’m talking to you, man.” Still nothing. “Um, yo, this is my seat. Twenty-three.”  
Nothing.

“What the fuck,” Lance muttered. “Yo, dude!” He waved a hand in front of the guy’s face, finally catching his attention. “This is my seat. Twenty-three.” He repeated, complete with very clear gestures in case the guy was deaf and that was why he didn’t hear. It seemed to work, because the guy got up and moved to seat twenty-five, across from Lance’s seat. Tossing his duffel under the seat, Lance plopped down and gave the guy a second, more thorough, examination.

He was pretty. He looked dead tired, and a bit out of it, but he was good-looking despite that. Pretty like a goddamn china doll. Especially his eyes, which were hiding behind glasses, but looked almost purple. His hair, though, was just shy of being a mullet by virtue of his long bangs. Lance put his backpack on the seat next to him and began rifling through it for his pajamas, since he’d want to sleep soon enough.

“No one likes taking the roomettes, they all want the bedrooms,” Lance said, talking almost reflexively to fill the silence. “But I always insist on getting the roomette, which kind of freaks out the booking agents, ha. But my logic is that this is only a small part of my journey, right? So I don’t need a room. After this I’m going to Santa Ana. My family is there.”

He found his shirt but not his pj’s. He sighed. He could just sleep in his boxers, whatever.

He continued, “You know, everyone says that SF is a crowded city, but what do they really _mean_? The crowd is made up of people. They’re _part_ of the crowd. But they still complain. Whatever, I’m leaving San Francisco permanently. I came like…what, eight years ago? Christ, I’m old. First university, then grad school, and I haven’t lived anywhere except dorms the whole time. I swear to god, I’m never living in a dorm or an apartment again.”

He glanced out the window, and spotted a construction crew working on the I-5.

“Ugh, I hope they finish roadwork before winter. It’s been happening for, like, years. But anyway—” The guy sitting across from him got up suddenly, and Lance forgot what he was saying. “What happened?” he asked. The guy walked away without responding. Frowning, Lance sat back against his seat. What was _his_ problem?

 

* * *

  

_HE TOOK THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN GOING ANYWHERE_

 

Keith was relieved when the talkative guy whose seat he’d had the bad luck to accidentally sit in didn’t follow him down the car. He got to the door and slid it open carefully. Below him, the train tracks whizzed by, the planks blurring together. The wind ghosted over his skin and ruffled his hair.

Another train’s horn blew. It was going to pass them, in the opposite direction. Keith could see its light. It was perfect.

The wind got stronger as the other train got closer and Keith leaned out the door. Its headlight was blinding. Keith leaned farther out. He was so _sick_ of having to live his shitty, empty life. The other train was right there, all he had to do was step out and all his problems would be solved.

“What are you doing?” someone asked behind him. Keith jerked away from the doorway and turned around. Talkative Guy was standing there, now wearing a loose t-shirt and boxers, carrying the clothes he was wearing earlier. He was saying something, but between the roar of the other train passing by and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, Keith couldn’t hear a word.

He glanced out the door again, just in time to see the end of the other train passing by where he stood. And then it was gone. By the time he tuned back in, Talkative Guy seemed annoyed.

“Or are you just ignoring me? That’s really rude, you know? I repeated myself like three times and you haven’t said anything.”

“Tickets, please,” a conductor said.

“One sec,” Talkative Guy replied, digging through the pockets of the jeans in his hands.

“Excuse me, sir. Ticket, please?” the conductor said to Keith. Keith stared at him.

He didn’t have a ticket.

“Oh, the door’s open? Please come inside, sir,” the conductor said, reaching past Keith to close the door.  “And please take out your ticket.” When the door was shut, Keith found himself sagging slightly, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The enormity of what he’d almost done had him staggering, trying to wrap his head around how he’d ended up in this position. Keith was miserable, yes. Life was shit right now and living it was awful. But he didn’t want to _die_.

The conductor was busy re-engaging all the locks and Talkative Guy turned to Keith.

“He wants to see your ticket?” He drew a ticket in the air. “Where’s your ticket?” He drew the shape again.

“I don’t have a ticket,” Keith said tiredly. The conductor’s expression became knowing, and pitying, making Keith shift uncomfortably. The conductor sat down with Keith and pulled out the ticketing machine, preparing an expensive, last-minute ticket.

“You know, actually what happened was he made his plans totally at the last minute, so he didn’t have time to buy a ticket,” chattered Talkative Guy from behind the conductor. “But the train is pretty empty so you can just make him a ticket now, right? There’s no problem.”

Keith fought the urge to just up and leave.

“Sir?” Talkative Guy tapped the conductor on the shoulder. “Are you convinced or should I keep going?”

The conductor turned away without responding, looking at Keith. “Where do you want a ticket to?” Keith stared at him. “Hey, sir, where do you want your ticket to?”

“Um,” Keith said. “Where is the train going?”

“What?” the conductor asked incredulously.

“Last stop’s San Diego. Give him a ticket to San Diego,” Talkative Guy chimed in. Then he leaned closer to the conductor. “Look, I should probably tell you. He just had a personal loss. He’s kind of hit hard times. So… anyway, yeah, San Diego.”

The conductor had apparently had enough. He printed Keith a ticket for San Diego and went on his way.

“Man, what’s the deal? You high?” Talkative Guy asked, plopping down in front of Keith. “Listen, if you’ve got a problem, you should tell me. I don’t mind. All my friends always tell me their life problems and I always make things better. It’s like… who I am. I can be your temporary therapist. So, let’s hear it, what’s the deal? C’mon, don’t be shy, tell me!” He nudged Keith’s knee a few times. “C’mon, tell!”

Keith exploded.

“ _Y_ _ou’re_ my problem. You won’t stop talking! Don’t you get that I’m not interested in talking to you? I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t care if you’re going to Santa Ana or Santa Monica, or if you lived in the dorms or an apartment or you were in jail. I just _don’t care_ , okay? So just please. Please leave me alone.”

The words burst out of him, and for a moment Keith felt better. It was cathartic. Then he caught Talkative Guy’s kicked puppy expression and guilt settled in his stomach along with the misery and loneliness from earlier in the day. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“That was pretty mean,” Talkative Guy said quietly.

“Yeah,” Keith agreed. “Look, I—”

“It’s fine, I get it,” Talkative Guy interrupted, perking up again. “You’re clearly upset about something, and you just took it out on me and starting spewing bullshit. But it’s fine. I don’t feel bad.”

Keith was relieved for all of three seconds before the guy kept talking.

“Well, these days, I don’t really feel bad about anything, actually. You wanna know why?” He grinned cheerfully. “I’m getting married soon!”

Keith’s first, unkind, thought was that this guy’s future spouse was probably deaf, or else they wouldn’t be able to put up with him.

“Well, actually,” Talkative Guy said, leaning forward, “I’m eloping! Nyma’s not Catholic, so my family won’t approve, but after we’re already married, what are they gonna do? We’ll fall at their feet and beg for forgiveness if we have to. They’ll have to forgive us!”

Keith didn’t say anything. And Talkative Guy didn’t stop talking.

“You know, I just really love the beach!”

…

“Since I was a kid, I’ve always been kind of obsessed with marriage.”

…

“What’s the actual different between ‘beach’ and ‘coast’? _Is_ there a difference?”

…

“I was just waiting until I finished grad school and she set up her business.”

When Talkative Guy finally opened up the overhead bed and climbed into it, he still talked even in his _sleep_. Keith decided to just get off at the next stop, to prevent the inevitable breakdown if he had to spend any more time with Talkative Guy.  He didn’t want to go all the way to San Diego anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. First chapter done. Next one tomorrow! (hopefully)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance misses his train and Keith doesn't care until he has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Chapter two! So far we're on schedule... I think I might actually just finish off part one for Lance's birthday on Sunday and not the whole fic because the second part of the fic is the one that needs more work. But yeah, here's that next part and also HAPPY BIRTHDAY KELLY! I hope everyone (but especially you, Kelly) likes this chapter!

TODAY'S A WINDING ROAD

 

Lance jerked awake, unsure of what woke him until he realized the train had stopped moving. He glanced at the bed beneath his, expecting to see Fancy Suit Dude passed out in his fancy suit, but the bed was untouched. Frowning, Lance climbed out of bed and slipped his flip-flops on, padding down the hall to the bathroom. While he peed, Lance contemplated the mysterious disappearance. Where did Fancy Suit Dude _go_ ? This was a train, there weren’t many places _to_ go.

He walked all the way to the end of the car and stuck his head out the open door, just in case. And, yeah, there was Fancy Suit Dude, walking down the platform. As soon as Lance spotted him, the train’s whistle blew and the train started moving.

“Hey!” he called, thinking that maybe the guy was out of it from everything that had happened to him. “The train is leaving!”

Fancy Suit Dude didn’t react.

“Yo, dude, it’s leaving!” he said again. Still nothing. Lance frowned, looking around at the empty station. This was the middle of nowhere. There was no way this was actually Fancy Suit Dude’s destination.

Likely because of Lance’s yelling, the conductor came over and poked his head out too. “What’s his name?”

“Bro!” Lance yelled, cupping one hand around his mouth.

“His name is bro?” the conductor asked stupidly. “Is he with you?”

“Oh my god,” Lance said, both at Fancy Suit Dude and the idiot conductor. He decided to just fuck it and jumped off the train, running after Fancy Suit Dude.

“Wait, sir, where are _you_ going?” the conductor asked. “Sir!”

“Dude!” Lance called out, ignoring the conductor and running after Fancy Suit Dude. “Hey, Suit and Tie! Silicon Valley! Dude from SF! The train is _leaving_.” Fancy Suit Dude had actually gone into the station building and sat down on a bench. “Are you insane?” Lance demanded, grabbing his arm. “The train is leaving, come on!”

Fancy Suit Dude pulled his arm from Lance’s grasp and settled back into the bench.

“What the fuck,” Lance said. He could hear the train picking up speed. His good deed for the day was done, this guy was so not worth missing his train. “Fine! Fuck you too!” He sprinted back to the platform, chasing the train. He was so focused on the escaping train that he didn’t see the baggage cart until he was right in front of it, and then it was too late. Everything tumbled to the ground, including Lance.

“Man, what the hell!” the guy who had been pushing the cart yelled, latching onto Lance. “You better help me pick these up.”

“Let me go, the train is leaving,” Lance said desperately. “Stop! Somebody pull the chain!” He lurched away from the baggage guy, who shouted furiously, and raced after the train. “Stop!”

But there the platform ended, and the train pulled away. Lance had missed the train.

And he was _livid._

He turned back to where the baggage guy was collecting luggage from the ground, and saw Fancy Suit Dude stroll up, cool as a cucumber, with his jacket slung over one shoulder. Lance squared his shoulders and marched on over. Fancy Suit Dude at least had the decency to look a bit cowed.

“You freaking weirdo! What were you even thinking? And now I missed my train because of you! All my stuff is _gone_. And I’m stuck without pants in some godforsaken station in the middle of fucking nowhere! What am I going to do?”

Fancy Suit Dude did not seem to like this.

“Did I tell you to get off the train?” he asked lowly. “Can’t you mind your own business?”

“Oh, so it’s _my_ fault? _In_ _grate_. I was _helping_ you, you should be thanking me!”

“Okay, fine. Thank you. Thank you _so much_ for helping me. Now will you leave me alone?”

“ _Leave you alone_?” Lance echoed. He put his hands on his hips and leaned forward, right into Fancy Suit Dude’s personal space so the dude would know he meant business. “I missed my train because of you. So now you’re going to take me to Santa Ana. To my house.  _With_ all my shit. I am so _not_ letting you off that easy.”  

Fancy Suit Dude stared at Lance, crossing his arms. Lance glared right back at him. A long moment passed and Lance waited patiently for his victory.

Then, doing pretty much the last thing Lance expected, Fancy Suit Dude took off running.

“What the—hey, someone help!” Lance shouted, running after him. But it was the middle of the night and the platform was pretty much deserted. No one was around to help. He chased Fancy Suit Dude towards the station building. “Thief!” Lance called desperately, even though it wasn’t _technically_ true. There was a police officer sitting on a bench by the doors to the station, eating a bar of chocolate and leafing through the local newspaper. Lance called out to him for help.

“Hey, stop right there,” the officer said, standing up and blocking the path.

“Move!” Fancy Suit Dude shouted, and dodged easily around the officer. Lance kept chasing, but shot the officer a scathing look. The least he could do was his job. Lance burst out of the station and spotted Fancy Suit Dude, stopped in front of a car and talking to the driver.

“Hey!” Lance shouted.

Fancy Suit Dude turned to beckon Lance forward. “Hurry up! I got us an Uber to the next station.”

Pleasantly surprised, Lance ran down to the car and got in after Fancy Suit Dude. “Go, go, go!” The Uber driver took a full minute to fiddle with the stereo, switching from radio to bluetooth, then connecting his phone and scrolling endlessly before picking a playlist. Then he started the car up and ever so slowly pulled into the road.

Lance could feel his eyes bugging out of his head. “Are you kidding me? How are we gonna catch the train like this?”

“You can’t catch the train,” the Uber driver said calmly, dismissively. “The next station is 60 miles away.” Then he turned up the radio and started singing along to George Strait.

And god, Lance _hated_ country music.

“He’s crazy,” he muttered to Fancy Suit Dude. “He’s totally crazy. I’m gonna miss this train too and then you’re gonna be stuck with me.”

Apparently that was a pretty good motivator.

“Stop the car,” Fancy Suit Dude said, his jaw set.

“What?” the driver said.

“What?” Lance also said.

“Stop the car.” The driver pulled over. Fancy Suit Dude got out.

“Oh, god, you couldn’t hold it?” Lance whined. this guy’s tiny bladder was gonna make him miss the train _again_. But Fancy Suit Dude didn’t walk off the road behind a tree. Instead, he opened the driver’s door.

“Move over.”

“What—hey! What are you doing?”

Fancy Suit Dude practically shoved the poor, annoying driver over the console and climbed into the driver’s seat. He buckled up. Then he took a deep breath and floored it.

The Uber driver screamed. “Stop, stop! Oh my god, stop!”

“Don’t distract him, we might crash!” Lance said, clutching the seat in front of him and feeling a manic grin spreading on his face. Fancy Suit Dude was the worst but he was also kinda fucking hilarious.

“This is a new car, I just got it a year ago!” the driver cried.

“Shh!” Lance said. He watched wide-eyed as the speedometer hit 80 mph.

“Man, please, please stop. The car is shaking!”

“Hey, don’t worry. Listen, this guy isn’t some regular guy. Look at him! Practically stealing someone’s car all nonchalantly, wearing a fancy-ass suit. He’s a total James Bond.”

“If my car crashes I won’t be able to afford a new one, please, this won’t end well!”

“Look, we’re all in this mess because of him. If anything happens, he’ll pay for it,” Lance volunteered. At that, Fancy Suit Dude glanced into the rearview and made exasperated eye contact with Lance, who grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll _make sure_ he pays,” he assured the Uber driver.

When they reached the next station, Lance and Fancy Suit Dude leapt out of the car, sprinting up to the platform, and Lance felt a frantic, desperate hope that they hadn’t missed the train, that all this craziness wouldn’t be for nothing. Lance nearly collided with Fancy Suit Dude when he suddenly stopped and opened his mouth to start complaining about it when he spotted it.

The train was at the platform, boarding. Lance practically collapsed, dizzy with relief. He turned to Fancy Suit Dude, who was clutching his side and breathing heavily.

“Get in, then,” Fancy Suit Dude said, waving a hand at the train.

“What about you?” Lance asked, also panting.

“Look, do _not_ try to help me anymore, got it?” Fancy Suit Dude said, pointing a finger at Lance. “I’m fine on my own.”

Lance couldn’t help a laugh. “Yeah, alright.” He glanced around. “Hey, I need to borrow some money. For water. I’ll return it on the train.”

Fancy Suit Guy pulled out his wallet and passed Lance twenty bucks. “That should cover it, right?”

“ _Twenty bucks_? Uh, yeah, that’ll cover a _bottle of water_.” Lance gave Keith a judgmental look. Rich people, man. He ambled over to the man with a snack cart standing on the edge of the platform. “Water, please. The biggest bottle you have.” The guy handed over a one liter bottle of water. “God, I’m out of breath,” Lance said between pants. “I love soda as much as the next guy, but sometimes you just really need some water, you know?”

“Sure, sure,” the snack cart man said amicably.

“They say the best things in the world are free, but right now I can’t think of anything better than this, honestly. But it’s not free, is it? How much?”

“Five bucks,” the guy said.

Lance gaped at him. “Five bucks? For this? What the fuck?”

“That’s the price, man.”

“Bullshit, there’s no way this is five dollars.” Lance glanced around and found the price listing. “See, that says three dollars for the large water bottle!”

“You’re arguing so much for just two dollars?”

“Yeah, I am! If two dollars is nothing, why are you trying to rob me of it?”

“ _Rob?_ ”

“Yeah, _rob_! Now give me my change!”

The man handed Lance his extra two dollars of change. Satisfied, Lance opened his bottle and started drinking. God, the water was just what he needed. Before he knew it he’d drunk half the bottle. He gave the snack cart guy a grin and opened his mouth to say something when he heard a familiar noise. He frowned, trying to place it. The train whistle blew and suddenly Lance knew just what the noise was.

It was the train moving.

He turned around and stared as the train pulled away, eyes wide with horror.

“Shit, stop the train!” he shouted, running down the platform. His flipflops skidded on the cement, slowing him down. Catching up was impossible; the train was picking up speed. “Stop, someone pull the chain!” he called.

But it was too late.

Lance had almost missed the train plenty of times in his life. Usually it was funny – he had to run a bit, but he made it onto the train breathless and exhilarated. It was nerve-wracking, sure, but also thrilling. But then sometimes, when he cut it too close, in those last few seconds before he made it on, he could feel his breath catch in his throat and his heart seize up.

Actually missing his train – a second time, at that – was much, much worse. Lance covered his face with his hands and sunk to his knees, his chest aching with miserable frustration at his failure.

_Now what?_

He jumped back up when a group of guys walked past him, a few of them giving him leers. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively, remembering that he was only wearing a baggy t-shirt and his boxers. He ducked into the station building and went up to the ticketing booth.

The man at the booth was old – hair gray and skin wrinkled. He gave Lance a judgmental once-over when Lance walked up to him.

Lance uncrossed his arms, straightened his posture, and held his head up high, just to spite the old asshole, as he explained how he’d missed the train.

“I can call ahead to the next station, and have them keep your luggage there,” the ticketing agent offered, looking very much like he didn’t think Lance was worth the effort. Someone bumped into Lance from behind and he saw that same group of guys from the platform giving him nasty smiles. “I can’t do anything else for you, I’m sorry.”

“But how do I get to the next station?” Lance asked, mostly to himself. “Shit.”

“Well, who told you to get off the train, boy? You should have been more alert. And now what will you do? You kids these days don’t get it. Look, life is like a railway track. A one inch bend can cause a detour of many miles. One small mistake can ruin your life.”   

 _Oh_ , _brother_ , Lance thought.

“Yes, even I have missed trains before. But I was prepared. You’re…” he glanced down at Lance’s bare legs, “…not. Someone wandering around alone, looking like that is practically asking for it. You’re like a free buffet table to those guys out there. Do you know what sorts of things could happen to you? Do you need me to explain? Look—”

“Excuse me,” Lance interrupted, smiling sweetly. “I have a quick question. Do you charge for this advice or is it free education?”

“Oh, no, this is free,” the ticketing agent said, smiling benevolently. Lance was this close to decking him.  

“Good, because I don’t pay for bullshit,” Lance snapped. He heard the guys behind him laugh. “Look, you old fart, can it with the lecture and do your job. Pick up the phone and call the next station, and I’ll handle the rest.”

Looking sheepish, the man picked up the phone and dialed. When Lance was sure he’d follow through, he flopped onto a bench, crossing his arms and tapping one foot. He stared at the ground, wondering how he was supposed to get to the next station without any money. Someone sat next to him on the bench.

“Your water,” the snack cart man said, offering him a bottle. “I’m no robber.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Lance said, taking the bottle.

“You know, this is really awful,” the man said, his voice just a touch too loud.

“What happened, bro?” one of the leering guys interjected, walking over and slapping the snack cart guy on the back.  Lance frowned, recognizing what was happening. Hopefully if he ignored them, they would leave him alone.

“This poor boy missed his train,” Snack Cart Man told Leering Guy. “And the next train isn’t until morning.”

“Oh, gosh, how terrible,” Leering Guy said, doing a horrible job of acting sympathetic. Lance rolled his eyes and stared out at the platform. “Is he all alone?”

“Yup.”

“What will he _do_?”

“I don’t know, man. Don’t you know? Travelling alone, looking like that, he’s like _a free buffet_.”

Lance was so done with this. “Look, don’t try that shit with me,” Lance barked, pointing a finger in the Snack Cart Man’s face. “Leave me the fuck alone, got it?”

“Whoa, there, I don’t bite,” Snack Cart Man said. “I’m just trying to help, before someone takes advantage of you, all by yourself in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah, good idea, man,” Leering Guy said. “I know it’s inconvenient, but don’t let him stay here all night alone. Take him somewhere warm.”

“Yeah. I guess I’ll have to. Out of the goodness of my heart, of course.”

“Shut the fuck up, okay? Stop bothering me.” Lance suddenly wished he’d taken those karate lessons with his older brother Marco instead of swimming lessons, maybe then he could just kick some ass and be left alone.

“Wow, look what the world is coming to. No one appreciates chivalry anymore.”

Leering Guy tutted. “Tell me about it.”

“I’m trying to take him someplace nice and this is the thanks I—”

“Shut up!” Lance snapped, standing up. Snack Cart Man stood up too. “Don’t make me smack some sense into you.”

Leering Guy leaned over to Snack Cart man, and said in a stage whisper, “Let him slap you. Maybe that’s what he’s into, huh?” and they both laughed meanly.

“Fine,” Snack Cart Man said to Lance. “If it’ll make you happy, go ahead. C’mon, if that’s what you want, then do it. I’m a bad boy and I need to be punished. _Spank me._ ”

Lance stared at him coldly. He was done dealing with these dickfaces.

“Hey, where are you going?” Snack Cart Man called after him as he walked off. “Now that I know what you want, I won’t leave you alone until you spank me!”

Lance made his way out to the road again, and felt his spirits lift when he saw that the Uber driver was still there. “Excuse me, sir,” he called. The Uber driver turned to look at him. For a second Lance thought he hadn’t recognized him, but then the driver fumbled his keys into the ignition and tore away from the train station. So he _did_ remember the ride there. Looking back. Lance didn’t exactly blame him for taking off, even though it left him with no transportation. At the station with a bunch of creeps who were eyeing him lecherously. Alone.

He turned around to look back into the station and saw that the guys were standing in the doorway, so he crossed the road to where a group of men and women were standing, looking like they were going out clubbing, with all their leather and slinky fabrics. Lance was pretty sure there were no clubs in Shithole, California, or wherever they were, but they seemed chill. Maybe they were stoners, or something, but they seemed like they wouldn’t bother him.

He was standing there, finally feeling the cold of the wind on his legs, when a guy on a motorcycle drove past slowly, looking them over. He passed Lance, and then stopped. He backed up his motorcycle until he was standing next to Lance.

“Hey, there. Come on,” he said. Lance stared at him, mind whirring. Did he _know_ this guy or something? “What’s wrong? Let’s go.” Lance was still baffled. “Look, it’s just me. The whole night, my place, let’s go.”

Understanding struck Lance like a bolt of lightning and he glanced around at the people he was standing next to with new eyes. “Oh. Man, you misunderstood. I’m not interested,” Lance said, with his best attempt at a smile that was friendly but not _too_ friendly.

“What do you mean?”

Lance opened his mouth to deny being a prostitute, but then closed it again, glancing at the people around him. What was he supposed to call a prostitute to their face? He didn’t want to be rude or disrespectful. Was prostitute an okay thing to say? Was hooker? Ho was definitely off the table, but what did he _say_? After a moment, he just shook his head.

“Sorry, man,” he said, turning to walk off.

“Hey, don’t be like that. I’ll pay for it, don’t worry,” Biker Guy said. Lance’s hopes fell when Biker Guy started up his motorcycle and started following him slowly. “Why you acting all classy?” The guys from the train station were still at the doorway, so Lance couldn’t take refuge in there. The prostitutes were also clearly not an option.

Just when he was panicking, he spotted a familiar almost-mullet in the distance.

“Just get on and let’s go,” Biker Guy said. “Why you making me chase you like this? Let’s just skip all this foreplay and get going. I’ll pay your fee.”

Lance took off running.

“What the hell? Acting so fucking superior,” Biker Guy muttered, revving the motorcycle. Lance almost tripped over his feet, but he made it to Fancy Suit Dude before Biker Guy caught up and flung his arms around the – slightly shorter, huh, interesting – man.

“Oh, thank God,” Lance murmured. “God, who knows what might’ve happened. Shit. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Lance added in a rush, shaking Fancy Suit Dude happily.

Fancy Suit Dude gaped at him.

“You missed your train _again_?!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance gets mistaken for a prostitute (again) and Keith realizes he might actually enjoy this weirdo's company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sliding in at half an hour left of today eyyy. I'm thinking I'll finish off part one on the 28th instead of the whole fic. Then I'll post stuff from part two when it's ready, which it definitely isn't right now.

CALL ME MR. FLINTSTONE

 

Keith stared at Talkative Guy. He had honestly (gratefully) thought he’d seen the last of the tall guy who’d been a thorn in his side since boarding the train in San Francisco. Now, in the asscrack of nowhere, they were reunited. Fucking hell.

“And who’s the moron on the bike?” he asked, glancing at some guy who honestly looked like a douchebag, with his beat-up leather jacket and motorcycle. Then he looked at Talkative Guy, and it made sense. Talkative Guy was probably the single most annoying person Keith had ever met, but his legs went on for days, his skin was flawless bronze, and his face was the cherry on top of the very attractive cake, with his wide grin, cute upturned nose, and bright blue eyes. Motorcycle Douche totally tried to pick him up and take him home. Which also explained the hugging and the relief. Motorcycle Douche made eye contact with him, then turned around and drove off with an angry pout. Talkative Guy took a deep breath.

“Hi. I’m Lance,” he said, sticking a hand out. Keith looked at him, then down at his hand, then at his face again. He sighed.

“Keith.”

“Keith! Pleased to meet you,” Lance said. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been so pleased to meet anyone in my entire fucking life.” For a second, Keith was actually amused. Then Lance kept talking. “Because you’re the one who caused _all_ the shit that happened today. I told you, didn’t I? I’m not letting you off easy. _You’re_ gonna take me home. I saw how much cash you had in your wallet, and I bet you’ve got a shit-ton in the bank. We’ll stay in some motel for the night, then we’ll go to the next station, get my stuff, and then all the way to Santa Ana. Come on.”  

Keith wasn’t sure whether he should be pissed off or just confused. His expression must have been a bit weird though, because Lance chuckled a bit.

“Let’s go, you can give me that look while we’re walking. It’s called multitasking.” Lance practically skipped off and Keith took a moment to wonder how on earth he’d ended up _here_ , when all he’d wanted was to not be at his company for one day. He rolled his eyes so hard he could feel the strain in his optic nerve before reluctantly trooping after Lance.

“Man, this is crazy,” Lance said cheerfully, and Keith was completely unsurprised that Lance wouldn’t just choose comfortable silence. “I used to watch this town pass by from the train, the houses and the streets, and I never gave them any thought. Life is so strange, isn’t it?”

Keith gave him a flat look, taking in Lance’s endless enthusiasm.

“You’re having fun, aren’t you?” he accused. “Like this is just some walk in the park. Amazing. They should keep you in a museum. People should have to pay to see something weird like you.”

“Whoa, there,” Lance laughed. “And where should they keep you?” He started counting off on his fingers. “You got on a train but you had no clue where it was going. You got off on some random station in the middle of nowhere. Then you drove a stolen car like you were possessed – almost killing me, by the way – and now you’re here. Walking down the roads on a dark and stormy night.”

“It’s like… seventy degrees out. And a completely clear night.”

“Just tell me, dude,” Lance said, bumping his shoulder into Keith’s. “What’s your deal?”

Keith looked at him, but didn’t say anything.

“Oh, sorry, my bad. Of course. Mr. Short-Dark-and-Broody doesn’t share his problems with anyone. Oh my god! You’re totally a Green Day fan! ‘I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known’ right? Who’s your favorite band? C’mon, you can tell me _that_ , it’s hardly a secret, right?”

Keith did like Green Day well enough, but that was beside the point. He looked up at the sky, addressing any deities that might be listening.

“How did I get here? What am I doing? And… just, why?”

Lance laughed.

When they reached what was possibly the seediest motel Keith had even seen in his life – called _Hotel Decent_ , ironically – Lance didn’t even hesitate before charging in. Keith shook his head and followed, wondering how Lance managed that level of confidence in just his boxers. Maybe it came with being both very pretty and apparently very naïve.

The guy at the check-in desk looked up when they came in, and after checking them both out, started smirking. Keith pulled out his wallet, past the point of trying to protest. Clearly the universe had decided this was his punishment for walking away from literally every single one of his responsibilities, and he’d just deal with it.

“Do you take credit cards?” Keith asked, hoping to preserve his cash as much as possible.

Lance was wandering around the small lobby, looking at the fake flowers and tacky wallpaper, before leaning over the counter next to Keith. His giant shirt slipped off one shoulder and the manager glanced down at him with an appreciative look. Keith barely held in another sigh.

“No credit, only cash,” Pervy Manager said, still looking at Lance, who was obliviously reading some brochure or something that was on the counter.

“What about debit cards?” Keith asked, waving his Visa back and forth. Pervy Manager didn’t even glance at him. “What’s the rate?” Keith asked loudly.

“What?” Pervy Manager said, snapping out of it when Lance wandered off again.

“How much do you charge for a room for a day?”

Pervy Manager glanced at Lance, then gave Keith a pointed look.

“Do you need the room…per hour?” Keith leaned forward and pointed a finger in Pervy Manager’s face.

“Just answer the question, okay? How much for a room for one day?”

“Why are you asking about the whole day?” Lance chimed in, coming to stand next to Keith. “We don’t have to stay here all day.” At this point, Keith honestly wasn’t surprised that the implications had gone over Lance’s head. Lance clearly lived in some daydream land, where everything was good and happy, and thus had no clue what he was suggesting.

“Just let me handle this, okay?”

“Yeah, because you’re handling it so well,” Lance sniped. “We don’t have unlimited funds, do we? We’ll take the room per hour!” Pervy Manager looked a bit too pleased.

“Lance, you don’t get what he’s—”

“Be practical! Why are you being so reluctant? We just need it for a few hours. We’ll take the room per hour!” Keith rolled his eyes. Pervy Manager glanced between them, the smirk appearing again.

“Uh, how many hours?” he asked suggestively. Keith looked to Lance, since he seemed determined to dig his own grave. Lance looked thoughtful.

“Two? Will two hours be enough?” Keith just shrugged. “Fine, okay, to be on the safe side, three. Three hours is more than enough!” Pervy Manager looked grudgingly impressed and Keith suddenly found himself holding in laughter. He shook his head, unable to help a smile, at least.

“Yeah, three hours,” he said to Pervy Manager. Pervy Manager nodded and gave Keith a chummy grin. Lance started examining some brochures again as Keith handed over his debit card. Pervy Manager gave him the keys, which he passed to Lance.

“Where’d you find him?” Pervy Manager asked, leaning close enough that Lance couldn’t hear.

“On the train,” Keith replied, leaning forward too. He figured he could have some fun with the manager, and he might as well, since he was stuck in this mess anyway.

“The train? You met him on the train?” Pervy Manager said. “Wow, I never thought of that. It’s a good idea, though.” Keith leaned slightly further forward.

“Listen, how is he? Like, what do you think?”

Pervy Manager gave Lance a sidelong glance, then grinned lecherously at Keith.

“Hot. He’s a tight piece of ass.”

“Thanks,” Keith said. Then, he held up three fingers and offered Pervy Manager a smirk of his own. “ _Three hours_ ,” he said suggestively. Pervy Manager actually winked. Keith barely stifled his laughter.  

The room was small and smelled a bit stale, but Keith found himself too amused to really care. Lance was sitting curled up on a chair, glaring at Keith.

“What were you and the manager whispering about?”

“You’re kind of oblivious, you know that?” Keith replied, leaning against the wooden dresser.

“Maybe,” Lance said airily. “But I know karate.”

That brought Keith up short. “So?” he asked.

“I’m just informing you. I’m a brown belt.” Lance’s glare intensified slightly, like he was trying to scare Keith, and Keith understood what he was actually saying.

“Oh, I get it. You know karate, meaning if I try any funny business, you’ll bust out some martial arts skills, right?”

“Maybe,” Lance said again. “I mean, yes! Definitely! I might look scrawny, but I’ve fought, like… _lots_ of people.”

Keith found himself laughing. “Don’t worry, I won’t try anything.”

Lance didn’t look particularly reassured. “Well, good. You can’t.”

“I don’t want to!” Keith said.

“Yeah, but even if you wanted to, you couldn’t,” Lance insisted.

“Are you trying to provoke me into attacking you?” Keith asked suspiciously.

“No, I’m just trying to be clear,” Lance said coolly. “So you don’t get the wrong idea. I hugged you at the station, and then said let’s go to some motel…who knows what you’re thinking. A guy like you…”

“A guy like me?” Keith echoed. “What does _that_ mean?” Lance made a sweeping motion, gesturing to all of Keith.

“Look at yourself. People in San Francisco must be throwing themselves at you. But I’m not that kind of guy, so don’t even think about it. I’m traditional. Loyal and monogamous. A one-woman man. And I have a girlfriend, Nyma. My one and only, till death do us part.”

“Well, then you’ll be happy to know that I’m a one-man man, alright?” Keith pulled out his wallet, and removed the picture that Lotor had always teased him for printing out. “Look.”

“Ooh, show me!” Lance said, making grabby hands. He took the wallet and examined Lotor’s picture. “Wow, he’s really handsome! You’re a lucky guy.”

Keith’s spirits took a nosedive.

“No. I’m not.”

“What?” Lance asked, tilting his head to the side. Keith put the picture on the dresser next to him, determined to leave it, and Lotor, behind. “Oh, so that’s the problem. He dumped you,” Lance guessed.

Keith glanced at Lance. “Life dumped me,” he muttered, abruptly too tired to stand.

“Meaning…?” Lance prompted as Keith sat on the bed. Keith didn’t say anything, trying to at once gather his thoughts and decide if he wanted to actually share any of them with Lance. “Oh, god, the silence again. What is this big secret of yours, anyway? I’ve told you everything, why can’t you tell me?”

Keith still didn’t reply, but as always, that barely deterred Lance.

“Anyway! Look, look at this photo,” Lance said, coming over with the photo of Lotor in his hand and holding it out inches from Keith’s face. Keith jerked back instinctively. “This guy dumped you, right? Hold this.” Lance grabbed Keith’s hand and put the photo in it. Then he dashed over to the dresser and came back with a red lighter. “Burn it!”

Keith looked up into Lance’s eager face. “What the fuck? You can’t be serious, Lance.”

“I am dead serious, Keith. Burn the picture.”

“That’s so cliché.”

“Listen to me,” Lance argued. “It’s a cliché for a reason. Burn it. You’ll feel really good. Burn that asshole!” Lance grabbed Keith’s other hand and put the lighter in, then stared at him expectantly. Keith stared at the items in his hands, then up at Lance, who gave him an encouraging, slightly manic grin.

Keith sighed. He flicked the lighter and held the photo over the flame. It caught quickly, the flames licking over it, and discoloring the ink.

“Okay. Now go to the bathroom and flush him out of your life forever!” Lance exclaimed. Already resigned to humoring Lance’s antics, Keith got up and went into the bathroom. Lance didn’t follow him in, though it seemed like a close call. He watched the photo burn for a moment, then dropped it into the toilet before the flames could reach his fingers. He flushed the toilet.

“Do you feel better?” Lance asked when Keith came out of the bathroom. Keith crossed his arms and felt himself smiling a bit.

“You know what? That was so goddamn ridiculous, but I actually feel good.” He was being sarcastic, but not entirely untruthful. And the sarcasm went over Lance’s head anyway.

“See, what did I tell you? And you know, you’re not bad-looking. You’re pretty handsome. And apparently also rich. You’ll find way better guys than him. You’re way out of his league.”

“Thank you, that’s, uh, nice of you to say,” Keith replied, uncomfortable under the scrutiny and the obvious pity.

“No, dude, I’m serious. Am I not also an attractive guy? Wouldn’t I know? You could get any guy you wanted. Probably even some ‘straight’ ones. That’s how pretty you are. Look, I’m getting married to Nyma and all that, but if she wasn’t in my life, then you never know, maybe I would have fallen for you too! Just _imagine_!” Lance faked a swoon, putting his hands over his heart and batting his eyes.

Keith couldn’t stifle a grin at Lance’s dramatics. “You like yourself a lot, don’t you?”

“Hell yeah! I’m my favorite person,” Lance said. Keith was almost jealous of that. “What’s that look?” Lance asked, and Keith realized he’d let his smile slip.

He shook his head. “I wish I could be like you,” he said.

“Well, that’s nearly impossible,” Lance said, shooting Keith a wide smirk. Keith chuckled. “But you’ll definitely find a better guy than what’s-his-face.”

“Well, why don’t _you_ find one for me,” Keith joked.

“Oh, well, okay, do you like me?”

“What?”

“Me! Look at me,” Lance said, striking a pose.

“What sort of question is that, Lance? Don’t be stupid.”

“Tell me,” Lance whined.

Someone pounded on their door, saving Keith before he had to think of a response to Lance’s sudden demands for… what, validation?  

“Open the door, run! Grab your clothes and run!” That was Pervy Manager’s voice. Keith stuck his head out of the door.

“Hey, what happened?” he called. Pervy Manager ran back, looking panicked.

“There’s a raid. Raid!” he yelled. “Come on!” He started gathering up the guests and ushering them down the hall.  

“What’s going on?” Lance said, joining Keith in the hall.

“Um, I think we have to go,” Keith said.

“Why?”

“The police.”

“The _police_?”

“Let’s go!” Keith said, grabbing Lance’s hand and dragging him down the hall after Pervy Manager. They climbed down a flight of stairs and ran down another, narrower hallway.

“Everyone hurry, I’ll open the back door,” Pervy Manager called. They all ran out the back of the building and into an alley. Keith could hear the police running in the front door of Hotel Decent.

“What is happening? Keith, what the hell?” Lance demanded.

“I’ll tell you later,” Keith replied.  

“Why are we running like criminals?” Lance said.

“Look,” Pervy Manager said. “Next time bring some luggage along, to show that you’re a nice, respectable boy. And maybe some pants.”

“But I left my luggage in the train,” Lance said, clearly confused.

“Well, then next time why don’t you book a private compartment in the train?” Pervy Manager snapped.

“What?” Lance said. “But I—”

“Lance, c’mon, ignore him!” Keith said, yanking the taller boy along.  

“Keith, what was he talking about?”

“Shh! Just run, I’ll explain later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three down, ten to go. Man, it's nice to have this fic out there though. Fuckin finally. Me to me: get ur shit together bro.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *life is a highway playing in the background* 
> 
> Keith and Lance actually become friends and they have awful transportation luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aha ahaha ahahahahahaha
> 
> So yeah, I didn't manage to keep to my planned update schedule, rip. Life be like that sometimes. But I am sorry to anyone who was expecting and anticipating the updates, if you exist out there. 
> 
> Anyway, here it is. The road trip tag finally becomes relevant.

SPEEDING THROUGH RED LIGHTS INTO PARADISE 

 

Lance and Keith sat at the bus stop, where hopefully they could catch a bus to the next town over and get Lance’s luggage. Lance looked heavenward.

“Dear God, please don’t give me any more adventures tonight. This was exciting and all, but I’m tired. Please make the rest of the night boring.” Lance was never one to shy from adventures but at this point he just wanted to make it home in one piece. Maybe have some of his mom’s cooking. Sleep in a bed.

Keith glanced down at his watch. “The bus leaves at six, so in a couple hours.” Lance nodded to show he’d heard. “You sleepy?”

“Nah. You?”

Keith shook his head.

There was a pause.

“Earlier… why were you asking if I liked you?”

“Oh, yeah!” Lance sprung off the bench and posed for Keith. “So do you like me?”

“ _Why_?” Keith asked, looking lost.

Lance laughed. “Why doesn’t matter. Do you like me? On a scale of one to ten. C’mon.”

Keith sighed and shook his head. “Sure, I guess.”

“That’s a yes?” Lance prompted.

“Yes.”

“Great!” Lance exclaimed. “If you like me, you’ll like my cousin, too. Hunk is just like me! Well, I mean obviously there are some differences, but we’re peas in a pod. Okay, so Nyma and I are gonna elope soon, so you and Hunk can elope too! Unless you’re Catholic, you’ll have the same problem as me and Nyma, so you elope! And then, all four of us can go live happily ever after on the beaches of Washington! What do you say?”

Lance watched Keith for his reaction. He was joking, mostly, but it was a fun conversation and Keith had shown that after Lance pried open his shell, he could be pretty fun.

Keith pretended to think about it, rubbing his chin and everything.  

“How about this? You and  _I_ elope. _We’ll_ get married, and live on the beaches of Washington.” Lance opened his mouth to protest, but Keith talked over him. “Look, it’s the most convenient option. We can just skip Santa Ana now, and we’re halfway to eloping already.”

“No, no, no,” Lance said, laughing. “Then what about Hunk? He’ll be left out. But if you marry Hunk, then I’ll be your cousin-in-law. It’s like a half-husband!”

“Well, what am I gonna do with just half, I want all of you, obviously,” Keith teased.

“No, but you’re getting _all_ of Hunk, and then also half of me,” Lance explained.

“Oh, I get it. It’s a bargain deal.”

“Right, exactly. Buy one, get one half off!”

Keith considered that. “Okay, sure, that makes sense, but if I marry you, it’s still a bargain. I get you, and half of Hunk.”

Lance sighed. “Here I am trying to set you up with my cousin, and you’re flirting with me!” He threw his hands in the air. “Hopeless!”

Keith laughed, and after a moment, Lance joined him.

“Are you always this ridiculous, or is today a special occasion?” Keith asked.

“No, I’m always this ridiculous, you?”

“This is my first time, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever been this ridiculous. And I’ve definitely never met someone as ridiculous as you.”

“Well, come to Santa Ana, and I’ll introduce you to a few more,” Lance offered, smirking.

Keith laughed again. He had a nice laugh.

They fell into a silence and for once in his life, Lance didn’t want to break it. After a few minutes, Keith started humming quietly. Lance smiled and nudged him, and Keith gave him a small smile back, still humming. Lance didn’t recognize the song, but it was a lovely melody. He opened his mouth to make a comment but lost his train of thought as Keith’s humming grew louder and more confident.

The bus, when it came, took them directly to the next train station, where Lance’s luggage was waiting, as promised. He was so relieved to be reunited with his stuff that he actually spent a solid minute hugging his suitcases.

“I thought I’d never see you again, Blue!” Lance cried, clutching his potted plant.

“That plant is green,” Keith said flatly.

Lance rolled his eyes. “That’s so not the point, Keith,” he said. “I named her Blue because she’s ivy. You know, like Blue Ivy, Beyoncé’s daughter.”

Keith stared at him. “You named your plant after Beyoncé’s daughter?”

“Um, yeah,” Lance said. “Blue is like _my_ daughter. I love her and feed her and water her.”

“Okay, sure. Makes sense,” Keith said. Lance could hear the sarcasm, but he elected to ignore it.

“So now what?” Lance asked. “You still have to take me home, Keith.”

Keith managed to look a bit disappointed, like he thought would let him off the hook once he got his luggage, but Lance was nothing if not persistent.

“Um, an ATM, I guess. We’ll probably need some more cash.”

“For what? You have a credit card, right?”

“Well, yeah, but what if we need a cab?”

“Call another Uber!”

Keith winced. “Yeah, uh, I paid the last Uber guy in cash. I don’t have my phone with me.” Lance’s mouth dropped open.

“You don’t have your phone? Where is it?”

“I…don’t know, actually. I left it on top of my car in San Francisco, so it’s probably long gone.”

“Jesus, Keith, you are one weird rich boy,” Lance said, shaking his head. “But, yeah, in that case, we probably will need some cash. It can’t hurt, at least. And if you’re planning to wave around that credit card, I wouldn’t say no to some food.”

“Okay. But before we go, you might want to put on some pants.”

Lance could feel the blood rush to his face. Somehow he’d forgotten that for almost the entirety of his acquaintance with Keith he’d been missing a key item of clothing. He grabbed the first clean clothes he could find and ducked into the train station’s bathroom to change. He felt mildly better once he was in real clothes, but the mortification still lurked at the back of his mind.

Keith withdrew more money from the ATM than Lance had in his bank account, so Lance decided he could splurge and Keith probably wouldn’t notice the difference. The first food in sight was Thai fusion from a food truck and Lance’s stomach growled audibly when he spotted it.

“Feed me, Keith,” he begged, grabbing Keith and dragging him over to the food truck. When they’d both stuffed their faces, Lance let out a loud burp.

Keith snorted. “Gross,” he said, laughing. “ _Excuse_ you.” Lance responded by burping again, and Keith let out another laugh. Lance grinned at him for a moment, taking in how different he seemed from when they’d met on the train. This Keith was much nicer.

Lance’s phone was long dead, so they ended up borrowing the food truck girl’s phone and using it to call a taxi service. Keith had decided – and Lance just let him choose, since it was his money – that they would take a taxi until they reached San Luis Obispo and there they could rent a car. Lance had tried telling Keith that it would be cheaper to just buy more train tickets, but Keith actually preferred renting a car.

Which just went to show how rich he was, if he didn’t have to worry about the cost.

“I think I’m gonna miss these little towns,” Lance told Keith, watching it disappear behind them.

“Are you joking?” Keith asked, but he looked amused. “You got stranded, harassed, mistaken for a prostitute, and chased by the police, but you’re feeling nostalgic?”

“Yes,” Lance insisted, brushing off Keith’s disbelief. “You have to admit, it’s a great story.”

“I guess,” Keith said doubtfully. “But I’m ready to be literally anywhere else.”

An hour later, Lance was convinced Keith had jinxed something. Their taxi got a flat tire and there wasn’t room in the tow truck for all of Lance’s stuff, so they were stuck sitting on the side of the road, hoping to hitch a ride. And that was _not_ better than the dingy little town they’d just left.

“This is all your fault,” Lance whined, flopping onto the ground next to a mile marker.

Keith rolled his eyes. “So you’ve said.”

The highway was pretty deserted, unless you counted the cows that had wandered over from the nearby field. Keith plopped down too and started humming again, that same song. He picked at the dry grass, and then he actually started to sing under his breath. Lance couldn’t make out much except, “ _when we started moving, our paths, too, began to move_ ”.

Lance closed his eyes and tilted his face up into the sun, listening to Keith sing quietly.

When he finally heard a car in the distance, Lance leapt to his feet and waved his arms vigorously. When they explained their situation to the driver, he generously offered to take them and Lance’s luggage to San Luis Obispo, but they’d “have to ride in the pickup bed, sorry, boys,” which Lance was honestly thrilled about.

“I love riding in the back, my family does it all the time. It’s like a fight to see who has to be stuck actually _inside_ the truck,” he told Keith as he lay back and stretched out.

“Isn’t it illegal?” Keith asked, but he too lay back, linking his hands behind his head.

“Only if you get caught.”

It was still another hour’s drive, but it was a beautiful day in May, and Lance felt great now that he had a way home with all his stuff. Keith started singing again.

“ _Come on, let’s get lost. Let’s get lost somewhere else_ ,” Lance heard. Then, a few seconds later, “ _Just sitting here like this, how will we find a new path? You walk and I too will walk, only then will these distances bridge someday._ ” The song must have been stuck in Keith’s head if he was singing it so incessantly. But Lance didn’t mind. In fact, Keith’s voice lulled him into a state of such relaxation that he fell asleep within minutes, only waking up when the truck stopped moving.

“Alright, boys, here we are!” the generous truck driver said.

“Thank you so much,” Lance said.

“Yeah, thank you. Let me pay you or something,” Keith said, reaching for his wallet. But the driver waved a hand dismissively.

“No, no, I won’t take money for helping someone out. Good luck in your travels!”

“Thank you, sir!” Lance said, shaking his proffered hand. He’d dropped them off in the heart of the town, and Lance grinned when the first thing he saw was an Express. “Keith, we’re getting you some clothes that haven’t been on a bed in a skeevy motel.”

“What?” Lance grabbed his wrist and all but dragged him into the store.

“Try this!” Lance said, pulling a dark blue shirt off the rack. “Oh man, and you’re gonna need jeans, forget those dress pants. What’s your size?”

Lance scoured the whole store and piled clothes onto Keith’s arms to try. He even picked out a few things for himself. Keith grumbled the entire time and then even threatened to not show Lance the clothes when he tried them on.

“But how will I know if you’ve made sane and sensible choices, Keith?” Lance called through the curtain.

“Lance, you picked the clothes to begin with,” Keith pointed out. “But I’m not gonna buy anything I don’t like. I don’t even know when I’ll wear half this stuff.”

“You can’t possibly wear suits all the time.”

“You’d be surprised,” Keith muttered darkly. And Lance suddenly was, because Keith opened the door and stepped out in dark jeans and a grey shirt.

“Dude, looking good,” Lance said approvingly, somewhat touched that Keith had actually come out of the dressing room . “Definitely buy them. What’s next?”

Two hours later they left the store with three bags full of clothes. Lance could admit that he’d probably pretty much press-ganged Keith into buying most of them, but they’d all looked so _good_ on him. Lance glanced at him. He definitely looked more comfortable in the jeans and pink henley Lance picked out for him.

“So now that you made me spend my money on clothes I’m never gonna wear, what’s next? Can we go look for a car?”

“Up to you, man. As long as you get me home, I’m not picky about how.”

“Meaning you’re not gonna be, like, at all helpful.”

“Yeah, pretty much!” Lance chirped, giving Keith a cheeky grin.

Keith rolled his eyes, which he did a lot, but a smile was tugging at his mouth. “We need internet access. Let’s go into that starbucks and charge your phone.” Then Keith gave him an accusing look. “You _do_ have a charger, right?”

“Oh my god. Yeah, I do, o ye of little faith.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “You missed your train twice in the same night.”

“I am a _good Samaritan_ , not _forgetful_ ,” Lance retorted.

And they did, eventually, procure a car, after about twenty minutes of arguing, then thirty minutes getting to the rental place, and another ten minutes of booking and paying. Lance was both appreciative and a bit annoyed that Keith dropped an extra fifty bucks to get them a slightly larger car. Like, it was nice to have the space, sure, but was it really worth the extra money? No. Fricking rich people.

“I am in charge of road trip music, no arguments,” Lance said, as soon as he climbed into the passenger seat.

“I don’t have my phone, so it’s not like I could have played anything anyway,” Keith muttered, starting up the car. Lance scrolled through his playlists, looking for one specifc song.

“No arguments! I already called dibs.”

“I wasn’t arg—”

“No arguments!”

“Oh my god, just play your music. If it’s shitty I’m stopping the car.”

“My taste in music is _exquisite_ , fucking excuse you,” Lance said, immediately pressing play on Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day. Keith’s mouth was twitching. Lance started singing along enthusiastically, and when Keith finally caved and joined in, Lance cheered.

“ _MY SHADOW’S THE ONLY ONE THAT WALKS BESIDE ME,_ ” they sang at the top of their lungs.

“Ha, I knew you were a Green Day fan,” Lance crowed when the song was over. “The mullet gave it away.” Keith’s hand flew to the back of his head.

“It’s not a mullet, the front’s long too,” he said, pouting.

Lance just laughed. “Hey, have you heard of ‘cows’?”

“Have I… uh, _yeah_ , Lance, I’ve _heard of_ _cows_. I went to kindergarten.”

“No, no, not the animal, the _game_! It’s the best road trip game,” Lance explained, laughing. “Every time you see a herd of cows you yell ‘COWS’ and then we’ll keep track of who sees the most.”

“So if I see a big herd that’s more points?”

“No, it’s per herd. So you also have to keep track of like where fences are.”

“So… it’s a game where we count cow herds?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“That sounds fucking lame.”

Lance put a hand on his chest in mock-offense. “First, rude. And second, it’s not lame. ‘Cows’ is as fun as the people playing it, so you have to get into it, but if you do, it’s—COWS! Score’s one-zero.”

“What? That’s not fair, I didn’t know we were starting,” Keith whined. Lance laughed.

“Well, you know what they say: you snooze, you—”

“COWS!” Keith interrupted.

“ _Fuck_. One-one.”

Two hours later, at twelve-fifteen in Keith’s favor, Lance spotted signs for Santa Barbara out his window.

“Keith! We gotta stop, I wanna go to the beach!”

“What the hell, Lance? We’re halfway there!”

“Yeah, but… _beach_ ,” Lance pointed out. “Let’s gooooo. And we need lunch anyway, that Thai food didn’t last me very long.”

So they ended up sitting on the end of a pier, their legs dangling over the free air, eating greasy as hell cheeseburgers. Keith started singing again, loud enough that Lance could make out all the words. They didn’t rhyme, but they fit the tune perfectly.

“… _Here or there, god knows where this fervor is leading me… Come on, we will find a way, a path through this world… Compared to our destination, these paths seem even lovelier._ ” Lance stifled the urge to applaud at the end, because he figured Keith wouldn’t actually appreciate it. But he was really good. His voice was smooth, and sweet.

“I didn’t recognize that song, what’s it called?” Lance asked.

Keith shrugged. “It doesn’t have a title or anything. The melody’s been in my head for ages, and I didn’t have any lyrics to go with it until now.”

“Wait, you wrote that song?” Lance blurted out. He didn’t do a great job of hiding his admiration, and it showed in Keith’s sudden shyness.

“Um. Yeah.”

“Dude, that’s so cool! You’re a really great singer, too, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone sing so well in my life!” A faint flush appeared on Keith’s cheeks. “You should have been a singer!”

 

* * *

 

 

YOUR LAUGH ECHOES DOWN THE HIGHWAY 

 

Keith shook his head at Lance. He wasn’t really surprised that Lance – of seemingly boundless enthusiasm, determination, and optimism – would say something like that. But life wasn’t actually that simple. It didn’t work like that. Just because he liked music didn’t mean he got to be a musician.

“People don’t always get what they want,” Keith said grimly. But Lance was shaking his head in disagreement.

“Why? I think that whatever a person really, actually wants, that’s what they get in life.”

Keith looked out at the horizon, mulling that over. “There was a time when I really, actually wanted something. Music was my biggest passion, the most important thing in my life.”

Lance draped an arm over Keith’s shoulders. “What, and your life’s over now? You’re talking about this in the past tense, like you’re _dead_.”

“Well, obviously, I’m not, but—” Keith shrugged– “music isn’t on the table anymore.”

“Why?” Lance demanded. “Why can’t you do it? What’s stopping you? C’mon, tell me.” Keith glanced at him, but their faces were too close and there was too much expectancy in Lance’s eyes. He didn’t respond. Lance threw his hands in the air. “Oh, god. Fine, don’t tell me! But don’t go getting all emo on me now.”  

“Yeah, okay,” Keith laughed. They finished their burgers and Lance got up to throw the wrappers away. When he came back, he dropped down next to Keith and elbowed him.

“I’ll start the conversation,” he began.

“Of course,” Keith interjected.

Lance gave him an unashamed grin. “The water’s so nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Keith said. It was, too. The ocean waves rolled gently up to shore and the water reflected the fluffy clouds in the blue sky. A beautiful day.

“Have you ever jumped off a pier before?” Lance asked, too casually. Keith could already tell where he was going with this.

“Lance, we should probably head out,” he said, grabbing Lance’s arm and starting to stand. Lance pulled him back down again.

“I haven’t, either! We should try it, it’ll be great,” Lance said, swinging his legs back and forth and grinning hysterically down at the water.

“Whoa, wait, hold on. I want to ask you a question. It’s important.”

“What?” Lance asked, pausing at Keith’s serious tone.

“Do you aspire to be a cliché or does it just come naturally to you?” Keith said.

Lance shoved him playfully. “Shut your face.”

“No, I’m serious, there are teen movies about people like you,” Keith continued, but he could feel his poker face slipping.

“Can the bullshit and let’s jump!” Lance said, his voice getting louder with excitement.

“Hold on, just listen—”

“No, Keith, just think about it. When are you gonna get this chance again? Seize the fucking day! As my dear old _abuela_ always says, _solo vives una vez_.”

It took Keith a hot second to bust out his high school Spanish skills, but when he’d parsed the sentence he gave Lance his best glare.

“That’s just yolo in Spanish.”

“You might never get to do something like this if you don’t do it now!”

“I don’t want to do it, ever! Are you having, like, a psychotic break?”

“You did that stupid, cliché burning thing back at the hotel, right? And you enjoyed it, don’t even lie,” Lance added when Keith opened his mouth to protest. “So just trust me on this.”

“Lance, no, let’s just—”

Lance grabbed Keith’s arm, and with a shout, launched himself off the pier. Keith was dragged down with him, yelling until he hit the water.

“Fuck!” he shouted when he surfaced. “The water is freezing, Lance!” Lance surfaced next to him, his smile wide and bright.

“Don’t be a wimp!”

He splashed Keith. Keith’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, it’s on.”

Their water fight was short and a decisive victory for Lance, who was like a goddamn dolphin. Keith wouldn’t have tried to fight this battle if he’d known that Lance had such a big home court advantage. When they made it to shore and were trudging through the sand, all their clothes soaked through, Lance laughed.

“God, that was fun.”  

“I’m pretty sure I’m gonna murder you,” Keith replied, but he was laughing too. Lance hip-checked him in response. They grabbed their stuff off the pier and fetched towels and clean clothes from the car. In too much of a rush to search out a public restroom, Lance showed Keith how they could create a makeshift walls with two towels and the car, then offered to let Keith change first.

“No peeking,” Keith ordered.

“Like I’d want to,” Lance countered.  

Once they were on the road again, after some debate, Keith decided it was probably time he told Lance who he was.

“Have you heard of Ryou Kogane?” Keith said, a non sequitur.

“The CEO of Marmora Inc.? Yeah, he died last year, right? Why?”

“He was my dad.”

Lance turned his entire body in his seat, straining his seatbelt, to face Keith. Keith did his best to avoid eye contact, which was made easier by the fact that he was driving.

“You’re _Keith Kogane_?”

“Yup,” Keith said. “Now you know.”

“You’re _the_ Kogane?” Lance said, seeming dazed. Keith chuckled a bit. “ _Your_ mom was the one involved in ‘the business scandal of the decade’?” That made Keith squeeze the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. “ _Shit_. Sorry,” Lance said immediately, sheepish.

“Yeah, that’s my mom,” Keith replied tightly. “The one who tried to split the company in half as part of her divorce settlement.”

“Keith, I’m sorry, I didn’t…I was just quoting some stupid article, I didn’t mean it like—”

“It’s okay. I’ll have to deal with people saying shit. You don’t have to apologize. My mom’s the bitch who cheated on my dad, so—”

“Keith, you shouldn’t talk like that about your mom,” Lance protested quietly.

“Why not?” Keith argued. “That woman destroyed my entire family, not to mention Marmora. _She’s_ the reason I’m estranged from my brother. Why should I show her any respect?”

“Because she was in love,” Lance said, like it was a good excuse. Keith scoffed.

“ _In love_? Are you serious?” he all but shouted.

“Look, she’s your mom, so it’s difficult for you to think about it like this, but when you’re in love, things aren’t right and wrong in the same way. They’re not black and white.”

“Who told you that bullshit? What shitty romcom did you pull these lines from?” Keith could hear himself yelling but he couldn’t make himself stop, even though Lance looked exceedingly calm.

“Come on, everyone says so. ‘All’s fair in love and war’!”

“Everyone _lies_. It’s bullshit, okay?”

Lance raised his hands, a placating gesture. “Yeah, okay,” he conceded. Keith was pretty sure Lance had just agreed to shut him up, but that was just fine with him. He was done with this conversation. “Hey, listen,” Lance started. Keith tightened his grasp the steering wheel to keep himself from doing something rash, like strangling Lance on the 101. “You’re like, _obscenely_ rich, right? You totally _should_ elope with my cousin for real. Everybody wins!”

And it was just such a stark contrast and such a ridiculous statement that Keith couldn’t help but laugh. Lance grinned, looking mighty pleased with himself.

“You’re one of a kind, you know that?” Keith told Lance, who smirked. “There’s no one else like you. Also, cows.”

“That’s so unfair! I was holding off in respect to the serious conversation.”

“Sucks to be you, then. Twelve-sixteen.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh so I don't know what the update schedule will be now. I guess... I'll just post when I can?? Part two still needs work but part one is pretty solid sooooooo................... it's a mystery to me as well, I'm sorry.


End file.
